


ouija board

by bestie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, one-night stand, so much dialogue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-19 02:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestie/pseuds/bestie
Summary: Cam threw one last glare at the ouija board box before standing up. “I’ll show you.” He paused, then added in, “Sorry for the lack of rope.”Dean exhaled sharply. “Please don’t apologize for that. Ever.”or, dean gets in over his head on a job with a psychic named camille. who the hell would've thought zozo the demon was real?





	ouija board

**Author's Note:**

> here i am posting canon/oc supernatural fanfic in the year of 2018. treat yourselves, friends. be self-indulgent.
> 
> (by pre-canon, i mean this is probably at least a month before s1e1 occurs. expect smut later. i know, i know, it's rated E but where's the smut?! later, i promise.)

The sun had begun to set, dipping beneath the tops of the buildings. It’d been a downcast day, the entire city of New Orleans bathed in dismal gray clouds and a near-constant misting of rain. But it’d cleared up just in time for sunset, leaving the sky a mosaic of pink and orange and red. The streets were filling up again, with both locals and tourists. Lights were turning on, music was starting to flow, and the scent of food was wafting in the air.  
  
If Dean was here on vacation, it almost would’ve been nice. Getting lost in the crowds with a cold beer and a warm bowl of gumbo sounded _good_.  
  
But no, he had work to do.  
  
Slipping into the crowds of people, Dean moved with them, not against them. He kept an eye on the street signs above him, counting down the numbers until he saw it.  
  
9501.  
  
Just the building he was looking for.

Dean ducked into the alleyway beside the building, which had a sign, blinking neon in the steadily darkening night, that said: _Palm reading — Tarot — Fortunes_. He scoffed at that. Psychics were real, sure, but all that palm-tarot-fortune shit was just that — _shit_. He hated it.

In the alleyway, it was definitely darker, and there was a stench that was undeniably _alleyway_. Sewage and rotting food. There was a ma-and-pop restaurant next door. Dean took his time walking, rounding the corner to the back of the building as he whistled to himself. He came up to the back door and knocked on it. After a few seconds and no answer, he knocked again. And then again.

Finally, the door swung open to reveal a man taller and more muscular than Dean was. His skin was a light brown, and his hair fell around his face in loose, wet ringlets. Unfortunately, he looked annoyed.

“You’re Dean?” the man asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean answered. He looked the man over. “You… You’re Camille, right?”

“No.” The man paused, eyes narrowing at Dean, before he relaxed, the corner of his lip turning up in a grin. “Nah, just kidding. Call me Cam, man. And c’mon in.”

Camil— _Cam_ took a few steps back, making a wide swoop of his arm as he gestured for Dean to walk inside.

Dean did just that, making sure to wipe the muck off the bottom of his boots before they touched the nice hardwood floor. He looked around, having to squint a bit in the dim lighting of the room.

“Ah, sorry,” said Cam. He stepped off to the side. A moment later, some Christmas lights that were strung across the walls turned on. “Better?”

“Not much,” said Dean.

Cam shrugged. “People pay for ambiance as much as they pay for reassurance.”

“How much you charge?” Dean asked. Not much of a conversation starter, but it’d have to do. “Hopefully you’re not ripping people off.”

“I gotta make a living somehow,” said Cam.

“So you rip them off.”

“Never said _that_.”

“You’re basically implying it.”

“Shit.” Cam looked at Dean with a snort of laughter. “Thought you came here for my help, not to judge my business practices.”

He nudged another door open with his shoulder, leading them into a room that was pitch black.

Dean heard Cam fumbling around for a second, then the click of another light switch, and when the light came on, Dean saw he was one step away from tumbling down a set of stairs. “Jesus,” he swore, grabbing onto the railing, “how about you warn a guy next time?”

“You knew,” is all Cam said in reply. It felt weirdly cryptic. But he didn’t say anything else after that, just motioned for Dean to follow him down the stairs. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket as they moved, reaching darkness once again in the depths of his basement. As if sensing Dean’s internal thoughts, Cam turned, glancing at Dean over his shoulder, and said, “It’s only ten steps down, you wuss. C’mon.”

“Didn’t think you’d be taking me to your weird BDSM dungeon, is all,” said Dean.

Cam scoffed, leading Dean over to a table. Instead of sitting too, he passed by Dean, slapping him on the shoulder as he did. “Sit your ass down and buckle up, baby. I’ll get the rope and the paddle.”

 _Fuck_ , Dean wanted to say. _Fuck you_ , he amended himself a second later. _No, don’t be an idiot_ , he settled on, as he sat down in one of the two chairs at the table.

While Dean got himself comfortable, he watched as Cam busied himself looking through a shelf that was stocked full. Books, bottles, plants, gems, everything you’d expect a witch to have. Minus the bones, he realized a second later. Or the blood. That was a good sign, at least.

“Here we go,” Cam muttered, pulling something out from underneath a pile of other somethings. He came over to the table and unceremoniously dropped that something onto it. It brought up a cloud of dust that had them both coughing, and Cam hurried to wave it away before opening up the something.

It was a box. A very familiar box. A ouija board box.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean groaned.

“What, you prefer the paddle idea?” Cam said with a quirk of his lips. He pulled out the board, pushed the box aside, and placed the planchette in the middle of the board. “Listen, man. Don’t knock it ‘til we try it. You ever heard of Zozo?”

“Who the fuck is Zozo?” Dean asked, brow furrowing.

“Some dick.” Cam placed a hand on the planchette. When Dean didn’t, he glared at him. “Hand, Dean. On the planchette.”

Dean mumbled something under his breath, but did as Cam asked. Ouija boards were such a sack of crap; worthless hunks of junk you could buy at a Toys-R-Us for fifteen dollars and some change. There was no way in Hell that Cam would be able to—

“Hey, spirits,” Cam called out, sounding like he was greeting some old friends of his. “I got a guy here. Dean Winchester. He needs some help. Anyone wanna give us a hand?”

The planchette moved.

It was slow, jerky, but it was moving. Both of them made sure to pay close attention as it spelled out: _J-O-B_.

“Job,” said Dean. “Job, as in, my job?”

“Nah. Job as in handjob.”

Dean’s entire face scrunched up. “What?”

Cam snorted with laughter again. “Chill. It’s just Clark. Right, Clark?”

The planchette moved to the big _YES_ at the top of the board.

“Yeah, so that’s Clark,” said Cam. “I talk to him a lot. Cool dude. He ran a speakeasy. Had multiple gay lovers. Got murdered by some mafia guy. Likes to flirt with me. Hence the handjob. Snarky son of a bitch.”

“And you just...talk to this ghost? Flirt with it? All casual?”

“I mean, yeah, sure. He hasn’t gone crazy yet; he’s just lonely.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You sure _you’re_ not the crazy one?”

“Not really, no.”

“Cool.” Dean cleared his throat. “Good to hear it. Uh. So, now—?”

“Now we have a talk with Clark, ask him what he and the other spirits ‘round here know.” Cam’s fingers tapped against the planchette, and he smiled almost fondly down at it. “Still there, man? We’re lookin’ for someone. Old guy, late seventies. Still alive.”

 _M-I-S-S-I-N-G_ was what the board spelled out.

“Yeah,” said Cam. “Arnold Garcia. Dean-o here says there’s a spirit with a grudge against him.”

 _YES_ said the board.

Cam frowned down at it now. “Who?”

_Z-O-Z-O-Z-O-Z-O-Z-O-Z-O—_

“Okay!” Cam exclaimed loudly. He slapped Dean’s hand away from the planchette. It kept repeating those two letters over and over, even as he spoke. “Fuck off. Ain’t talkin’ to you. Session’s over, door’s closed, _don’t_ follow me out.”

It stopped moving. Cam tossed the board and planchette into the box, grumbling to himself about how now he’d have to bless the board again ( _again?_ What the Hell—) without paying much mind to Dean.

Not one to be ignored, Dean cleared his throat. Loudly.

Cam looked up at him as he placed the cover on the box, visibly annoyed. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? The ouija board, that’s what. Is that Zo—”

“Do _not_ say his goddamn name,” Cam snapped. “Hell, I never should’ve even mentioned him. My fault.”

“Sorry, sorry. Uh, is that _dick_ the one who’s snatching all these missing people?”

“No. Maybe?” Cam sat down with a huff, arms crossing over his chest. “I dunno. That thing, usually it just— it causes some havoc, maybe tries to possess a person or two, but there’s no lore on it physically _taking_ people. It’s a spirit. A crazy demon. Somethin’. Usually it just pops in to fuck with me, try to feed off me, but I don’t get scared so then it gets pissed. Bad times.”

“So basically we’re back to zero,” said Dean.

“Yeah,” said Cam. “Maybe. I dunno. I have other ways I can check stuff out.”

“Like?”

Cam threw one last glare at the ouija board box before standing up. “I’ll show you.” He paused, then added in, “Sorry for the lack of rope.”

Dean exhaled sharply. “Please don’t apologize for that. Ever.”

Cam grinned at him.

 

\- - -

 

Apparently, Cam’s other methods of finding information included consulting tarot cards, lighting a fire and reading the ashes, and spinning a gem that was attached to some string while asking it questions.

Nothing gave him an answer he liked. It always went back to that _thing_ , Zozo. And Cam was pissed.

Dean was sitting on the edge of Cam’s bed, watching as he rummaged through a trunk. His hair had begun to dry, leaving the curls tighter and frizzier, and Dean’s mind drifted as his eyes drifted further south, just for a moment, and he realized in that moment that the sweatpants Cam was wearing managed to hug his figure in the perfect places—

“Hey.”

Dean startled. He quickly brought his gaze back up to see Cam, upper body twisted in Dean’s direction with an amused expression on his face. But there was something else to it, too— something coy, almost. Which fit him oddly well.

“Didn’t realize you were so eager to get into my bed. The ropes were just a joke, sorry to disappoint.” Cam’s expression grew even more amused as Dean spluttered in response. He slammed the trunk lid shut and moved to sit on top of it, facing Dean fully. “Kidding, man.”

“I – I knew that,” Dean snapped, trying to save face.

“Mhm.” Cam didn’t look like he believed Dean for even a second. “Look, I can’t find my other set of tarot cards. I probably stashed ‘em in my storage place or something, but they’re not open now. I can swing by in the morning to grab ‘em, if you still want my help.”

“You’re the best shot I have at figuring this out,” said Dean. “My dad told me to come to you for a reason, I figure. So, yeah. I’d appreciate that.”

“Yeah?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” Cam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together in front of himself. He was grinning again. “How much you appreciate it?”

Dean spluttered again. “I— I’m sorry, _what?_ ”

“We never talked payment,” said Cam, too casual for what he was seemingly implying, “and, Hell, I don’t really need any. Helpin’ out is good enough for me. But—” He stood slowly, and Dean did too (albeit much faster), which had a pleased hum rising from deep in Cam’s chest. “I figure you and I could work something else out anyway, if you’re down for it.”

Either it just started pouring rain, or that rushing sound it Dean’s ears was the sound of all the blood going to his head.

“Uh, right, yeah, well,” Dean stammered, like some sort of idiot, as Cam took a few steps closer, watching him like a hawk. “I mean, hey, you’re, uh, cool, and all that, but– but, listen, I’m...”

“Casual,” said Cam, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. “I know how it is. We can keep it like that. Nothin’ either of us don’t wanna do. No need to talk about it afterwards.”

“No, that’s not—”

Cam was close. Almost too close. He looked like he was about to lean down and kiss Dean, and for a second, Dean _really_ wanted that to happen, his eyes fixated on Cam’s full lips that looked surprisingly soft, but then the moment hit him again and he scrambled back with a nervous bark of laughter.

“I’m not gay!” he exclaimed, holding his hands up. “Or bi! Or – anything. I don’t swing that way. Towards guys, I mean. At all.”

“Oh.”

The silence stretched on, long and awkward, until finally, it seemed to hit Cam too.

He let out a breath that sounded a lot like a wheeze, stumbling back a few steps. “Oh, _shit_. Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“No, no, it’s cool. Uh, I’m flattered. Really. And, hey, I mean,” Dean continued, another nervous laugh bubbling up, “if I did? Yeah, no, I’d be all over you. For sure. So.” God, his mouth was dry. His tongue poked out to lick at his lips. “Y’know. It’s fine. No harm done.”

“Right, yeah. No harm, no foul,” Cam agreed. At least he looked as embarrassed as Dean felt, too. “Well, uh, unless you wanna share the bed with me— and I’m definitely kidding, by the way —you’ll probably want to head out. Ain’t nothing else for us to go over tonight.”

“Now? While the night is still young?” Okay, so Dean could still crack a joke. He wasn’t _that_ brain-dead from what had just happened.

“Creatures go bump in the night here. But that’s just New Orleans for you. The night life never ends.”

“You got experience in the night life around here, then?”

Cam raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, ‘course I do. Was gonna head out to my usual joint after you left.”

“I’ll tag along, if it’s alright with you.”

Cam’s other eyebrow went up. “Hey, no offense, but this place probably isn’t your usual prowling ground.” But then he shrugged, turning to delve back into the trunk. “I mean, you can come if you want, though,” he said as he went back to rummaging. “I sure won’t turn down the company. Especially with someone like you.”

“Alright, cool.” Dean cleared his throat, making for the door when he noticed Cam was pulling a change of clothes out from the trunk. “Not like I have anything better to do.”

Cam merely laughed, straightening up. He followed behind Dean, gave him a light shove out of the room, then slammed the door in his face.


End file.
